


Explosions in the sky

by Sqigglemonkey



Series: The Wicked Path of Destiny [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: F/M, Fake AH Crew, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5158226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sqigglemonkey/pseuds/Sqigglemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fake AH Crew find comfort in poetry, in the simplicity and the similarity with crime. It's what draws them to each other, even when they have been messed up so badly by the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explosions in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> "Explosions in the Sky  
> bringing renewed hope  
> for our humanity"

Some would say that crime is like art. They would compare the harshness of gunfire to the tapping of a typewriter or keyboard, the smooth slice of the knife to a pen or paintbrush, the sharp explosion of a bomb to the first character written or spot of paint on canvas.

These same people are those who see crime and poetry as constants. Who, if you were to observe them, appear to have two different lives. The outside one that the world sees, of crime and war, who have pulled off some of the most elaborate heists, and lived to tell the tale, who the world knows and lives in fear of, who's faces are splattered across police station offices but can never be caught; and the internal one, the one of very unusual domestic love, of poems read and written to explain their lives, of kisses shared in both sadness and joy.

These people are, to most, murderers and psychopathic killers, yet to those who know them, who work with them, they are kind, gentle, and loving, the strongest friends, and the best lovers. They rule not only Los Santos, but each other's hearts. They are the Fake AH Crew, and this is their story.

The Gents had all entered the crime scene in their 20s, finding that 'normal' jobs just weren't for them, and they enjoyed the thrill of crime far more than anything they had ever done, although Ryan was still pestered sometimes by the Lads to model new suits and clothes for them.

The Lads had all discovered, around the same time as each other, that life enjoyed fucking with you, having family ripped from you at an early age would do that, especially when you get dumped in a different city or country, and entered the crime scene in their teens, all around 18 years old. Each of them found their way in the world through crime, determined to fuck life and the world up in revenge, each learning their trade and meeting in a coffee shop one day by pure accident.

 

* * *

 

Michael had been planning to blow up this coffee shop for weeks. Every day for months he had gone in with a specific order: coffee with soya milk (which, according to their menu, they did), yet each day he had been served a coffee with normal milk. So three weeks before the day he stopped getting his morning hit of coffee from that shop, and started drinking Red Bull, planning the perfect moment to destroy the shop. He didn't want to hurt too many people, but he wanted to make sure the asshole who kept fucking up his order was in the building when it blew. So Michael Jones started planning, learning everyones movements, and the perfect place to leave a bomb so that it would destroy the shop, not hurt too many customers, and leave the adjoining shops singe free.

Michael arrived at the store as per usual at 9.30am, getting a Red Bull and taking a seat by the window at the back of the shop, the perfect spot where he could still see what was happening but it was hard to see him. The bomb was in his bag on the floor next to his seat, completely out of sight, it wouldn't go off until he pressed the button on the controls in his pocket. Half an hour later, just as he was about to leave and put his plan into action, a lanky, slightly attractive man with messy hair entered the shop. It was mostly empty so Michael easily heard the British accent as he ordered a Red Bull, and watched him as he slipped into a seat close to the staff door. There was something strange about this man that Michael couldn't put his finger on, so he chose to wait a while and see if anything happened.

It was almost 15 minutes later, when the shop was almost completely empty, aside from a couple of known drug dealers, that the barista went out back through the staff door, and Michael almost missed the Brit slip in behind him, completely silent. A couple of moments later, he reappeared through the same door, sitting back down and taking off a pair of well-fitting leather gloves that Michael could have sworn were not there before.

Another 5 minutes passed and another barista, the one who kept fucking up his order, came through the door. Michael was just about to slide a note to the Brit to leave as he did, when a young, almost white Hispanic entered the shop, pulling a pink (really? fucking pink) rifle into his hands.

"You know what this is, right?" the Hispanic man breathed, "hand over the cash. I know you've got like a hundred bucks in there, but a guys gotta eat." The man seemed almost bored as he requested the cash, appearing not bothered by the other 4 people in the shop, and grinning when the barista handed over the cash, exclaiming a thanks before turning and winking at both Michael and the British guy before leaving, lighting a cigarette as he exited the store.

A couple of minutes later, the Brit left the store, almost tripping over his chair as he left, and Michael followed not a minute later, leaving his bag. The Brit was still in sight, standing by an alleyway, holding something, and Michael wandered over, if just to tell him to move slightly further away, when he noticed the Hispanic on the roof of the shop next door. He signalled for him to move, and saw the blink of his rifle as the guy jumped up and ran across two rooftops, before dropping down once more.

The Brit had moved so he was next to the store that the Hispanic was on top of, and Michael determined that they were at a safe range. He pulled out the control and pressed it, walking towards the two men. He wasn't sure what it was that intrigued him about them but he wanted to find out.

The Brit was staring past Michael with a look of abject awe as the curly haired man strolled over.

"That was top!" he exclaimed. "I'm guessing you did that. That was bloody top! How did you do that?"

Michael shrugged. "Practice."

The Brit stopped staring at the burning building, to gaze at Michael, the same look of awe plastered across his face. "I'm Gavin. I'm a thief. And a Hacker. I've also been a frontman for a few gangs before. Who're you?"

"Mogar," Michael stated, frowning at the seeming ease that Gavin introduced himself.

Gavin's face seemed to glow at that. "I've heard of you. Your skills in pyrotechnics are unmatched. You're said to be the best of the best of the best. Everyone wants you in their crew."

Michael scowled. He didn't work well in a crew. He didn't even know why so many people knew his name. It irritated him. He didn't want to be known as the best of the best of the best. He wanted to be known as the guy who fucked up the world as much as the world had fucked him.

"Whatever, asshole," Michael started walking away, already thinking about how to fuck over someone in a video game after the rush of euphoria from the bomb died down.

"Do you know the guy with the pink rifle?" Gavin's voice simply asked him.

Michael snapped his head round. "No." He stated simply. He'd like to though.

"Most people know him. Brownman. No-one knows his real name. They say he was in and out of foster care since he was 10, right after his parents were murdered in front of him. They say he was abused by most of the people who fostered him, so he left. They say he's on track to be the greatest sniper. Never misses a shot." Gavin said simply, a serious look on his face, that turned into a full on grin. "Wanna meet him?"

Michael was taken aback at that. "What the fuck?" Yes, he'd heard of Brownman, everyone in Los Santos had heard of the Brownman. His name was almost as famous as the Vagabond, Kingpin, Beardo or Gavino. Michael's own codename, Mogar, was allegedly up there too, but he didn't care. "Do you have a deathwish? He could kill us."

"Nah," Gavin stated, winking as he turned to make his way up the ladder to the roof of the building.

"Nah? That's it, nah. No explanation, just nah." Michael rolled his eyes. This guy was a prick. But there was a nagging feeling at the back of his head that he should go meet this Brownman. Afterall, if he'd wanted to kill them he could have done whilst they were in the coffee shop, but he didn't, in fact he'd _winked_ at them. Fuck it.

Michael waited until Gavin was far enough up the ladder, before he started climbing. On the roof of the building, they were met by the Hispanic man, his rifle on his back and grinning.

"I knew you couldn't resist a wink," Brownman stated. "Mogar. Gavino." The Hispanic stated their names, smirking at the confused look on their faces. "Think I wouldn't know who you are? I saw you steal that document, Gavino, and I've seen your explosions before, Mogar. I'm not stupid. I'm surprised that you didn't know me, Mogar. My sketch has been about for a while, even if it is slightly off."

So this was Gavino (really he should have worked it out. A thief who's name happens to be Gavin. Not a particularly clever code name to be honest though.), and the Brownman. They're pretty cool. Could he see himself working with them? Probably. Would he? He wasn't sure.

Michael tuned back into the conversation at a fucked up pronunciation of his name. "...Micool. We should work together. It'd be top."


End file.
